


that we may fall in love every time we open up our eyes

by synchronicities



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: All the soulmate tropes, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Soulmates, milking the love square for all the irony it's worth tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:59:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5983531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronicities/pseuds/synchronicities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four worlds in which there's physical proof Marinette and Adrien are meant to be, and one in which they have all the proof they need.</p><p>(Or, the soulmates AU four ways.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I: NAMES

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot stop writing Adrinette, it's my favorite of the love square. Title from Sleeping At Last.
> 
> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

**ONE:** _YOUR SOULMATE'S NAME IS WRITTEN SOMEWHERE ON YOUR BODY_

* * *

 

It starts like this: Gabriel Agreste asking to see his son in the birthing ward of Paris’s best hospital. The walls are white and unfeeling and the place smells of antiseptic, but his wife Angelique is glowing and smiling as she hands the baby to him, and he gives her a tight smile and a kiss on the forehead. His son has his mother’s patrician features, gentle green eyes and a tuft of blonde hair, and he feels a surge of affection. _He’s perfect_ , he says, watching her smile. _You’re perfect._

 _It’s on his torso_ , she says quietly. Gabriel looks where she says and true to form, there it is – _Ladybug_ stark against his son’s skin. He frowns, wonders– 

 _He’ll figure it out_ , Angelique reassures him, like she’s done so many times before. _He will know_.

(She’s right.)

(Many years later, when she is gone and Gabriel has a purple butterfly trapped in a glass case in his lair, he realizes he significance of the word over his son’s ribcage, and that’s when he _realizes_ just what it means. He loves his son, but _Angelique_ is branded on the nape of his neck like a never-ending reminder, and he’s supposed to choose her first.)

At the same time somewhere in Paris, Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng trace the marks on their baby girl in her nursery – _Adrien Agreste_ , scrawled in fate’s perfect handwriting, on her right shoulder. Tom says, _I hope he takes care of her_ , touches the _Tom Dupain_ written on Sabine’s right arm, _like I did to you_. Sabine smiles and says, _I hope he loves her like I love you_ , kisses the _Sabine Cheng_ on her husband’s wrist. In her arms, Marinette laughs in delight.

(They’re right on both counts.)

* * *

 

Marinette’s known who Adrien Agreste is for years before she actually meets him. She sees his name in a fashion magazine – Teen Vogue, fresh off the press, in a perfume ad for YSL. The photo has him with two gorgeous other models who are supposed to be his parents in the ad, but she can’t focus on the father’s collar style or the cut of the mother’s dress when all she’s drawn to the green of his eyes, and in a bid to know who he is, glances towards the corner of the page where the information is – and it’s there, in small thin letters: MODELS: JANINE BEAUMONT (RIGHT), KEITH WATERS (CENTER), ADRIEN AGRESTE (LEFT).

She screams and drops the magazine like it’s burnt her, then picks it up like it’s fragile and delicate, smoothing out the cover and placing it back gently on her desk, then leaps across the room to call Alya. This boy, this beautiful boy whose green eyes stare out glassily from the page, is hers. Somewhere on his body, her name – _Marinette_ – is telling him that she was his, too.

That’s how it begins – his rise to fame is almost meteoric, backed by his designer father, and it’s all too easy to keep track of his career, cut snippets of his face out of magazines, speculate about what he’s like – he must be kind, and gentle, and caring, and considerate – wonder when – when! – they finally meet.

(Marinette will show him, years later, the magazine, tucked in a special box under her bed, and Adrien will turn bright red and kiss her senseless when she laughs at him.)

She doesn’t realize he’s transferred into her school until she literally bumps into him on his first day.

“I– You–” She tries to speak, but nothing’s coming out, how is she supposed to come off to this boy? How will he know that they’re supposed to be together? She feels heat gathering on her cheeks. How–

“Sorry about that,” he interjects. He gathers her fallen books in one smooth motion before she can say anything, her throat feeling dry. “I’m new here, I–”

“I know who you are,” she hastily blurts out before she can stop herself, and his brow furrows in confusion, and oh my _god_ – “Adrien Agreste, right? My name’s Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She holds her breath and waits for the flash of recognition in his eyes.

It doesn’t come. He blinks in confusion.

The moment passes.

“It’s nice to meet you, Marinette,” he says, the smile she’s seen so often in advertisements returning. “Could you perhaps point me to my next class?”

* * *

 

Adrien’s soul mark is _different_. It’s not a name, as far as he knows – _Ladybug_ , dark and sure of itself while he puzzled over it throughout his childhood. _What does it mean_ , he’d asked himself, _was Ladybug even a person?_ He sometimes debated telling other people he didn’t have a name instead of explaining his, but that felt…disloyal, like he didn’t believe in whoever Ladybug was, and he did, he _does_ , especially after his mother stops showing up and his father retreats to Milan or London or New York where he doesn’t have to look at Adrien. (He looks so much like Angelique, see.) He likes to thumb at his torso where the script is, knows that somewhere out there someone _better_ is waiting for him.

When he finally does realize what it means, he’s fumbling through battling an akuma – it’s only his third one and his inexperience must show painfully because he’s dangling off a building ledge, fretting for his life, and there’s only a light chuckle behind him before she’s swooping onto the scene, a strong arm around his waist until his feet touch the ground. The girl is majestic in red and black, graceful and powerful and the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

(Marinette still teases him about it later.)

He can’t even say anything. She cocks her head at him, says, “Well, are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me?” and his fighting instincts kick in, and before they know it the akuma’s left the poor gardener in a sorry heap on the ground.

His mysterious savior turns to him. “ _Bien joue_ ,” she says softly, holding out her fist. He blinks at it, then at her expectant eyes, before bumping it.

She’s beautiful. It _has_ to be her, Adrien feels it in his bones.

“You are Ladybug, yes?” he says, years and years of finishing school and his father’s appraising eyebrow returning to him. The fact that he’s meant for this strong, wonderful girl – it’s a heady, dizzying feeling, one that makes him want to jump around the rooftops in joy. He holds his breath, watches her face, _hopes_ that the mark on her skin says _Chat Noir_ , black cat, an anomaly like him.

Her stare wavers, like she’s not fully used to the name yet. “Ah, yes, and who might you be?”

Adrien contemplates telling her his real name, but decides to hedge his bets. “Chat Noir,” he says, calmly and deliberately.

Ladybug nods, understanding, but her face doesn’t change. His heart plummets a little, but maybe somewhere in that expanse of creamy skin – _Adrien Agreste_ is nestled somewhere.

* * *

 

One night in the future, Chat Noir and Ladybug take pause on a Parisian rooftop. The sky is clearer than most nights and the air is cool; Ladybug exhales exaggeratedly and giggles when her breath comes out as fog. She adores February, loves the warmth in the air and the pink and red of the streets despite the cool weather.

“It’ll be Valentine’s soon, _chaton_ ,” she says, staring up at the stars. “What’s in the cards for you?”

Chat Noir regards her curiously. “I don’t know. The usual, probably.”

She blinks at him, offers him a grin. “What, no lucky girl or guy?” she says, teasing.

For half a second he looks crestfallen, but snaps back immediately. “You know you’re the luckiest girl, milady,” he says, all smooth timbers and quick winks.

“ _Chat_ ,” she reprimands, but her tone’s fond. She can’t help it, she cares for him a lot.

His face turns serious. “Do you have a soulmate, Ladybug?” he says, and his tone is so quiet it breaks her heart.

Ladybug raises a pointed eyebrow at him, the one that screams _nothing personal, remember?_ But his bravado is mostly gone, replaced by a somber, darker version of himself she never wants to see.  “What brought this on?”

“Well, you did say it’ll Valentine’s soon,” he points out. The moonlight shines on his face, reflects off the sclera of his eyes. “Just…wondering. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

She closes her eyes, thinks of Adrien sitting in front of her, and the fact that he doesn’t seem to have her name – he _mustn’t_ , otherwise he would care – and sighs. “I do have a name,” she says softly, unable to look at him. “On my shoulder. But he – I don’t think we match.”

He looks stunned. “Why not?”

“He knows my name. I told him the instant we met. But he’s never – approached me, or anything, he–” She sighs. “My parents are soulmates, and they’re the happiest. I guess I thought I’d be as lucky as them, but – turns out my kwami’s luck doesn’t extend to that.” She brings her knees up to her chest, as if doing so will make up for how much information she’s just shared with him. 

Chat Noir is looking at her, his expression undecipherable, and she squirms. “What about you, _minou_?”

“I do have a name, too,” he says, just as quietly. “I don’t know if we match. I’ve never asked her.”

She considers him, the knowledge that there's another person out there whom he knows is for him, and yet he still claims to love her. “Why not?”

He shrugs. “Same as you. She must know it’s me, right?”

Ladybug looks down at her hands. She’s heard of it, people whose soulmates aren’t marked for them in return, but she’d never think it would have happened to _her_. But she thinks of Adrien’s kind smile, and gentle hands, and utter determination to do the right thing, and the throb of her heart doesn’t lessen one bit. She hopes Chat feels that way, too. “Someone doesn’t have to be your soulmate for you to love them,” she says, her heart in her throat.

Chat Noir blinks owlishly at her, like he’s stunned at her statement, but then his face relaxes into a grin. “You’re right, bugaboo.” He takes her hand, laces his fingers in hers, and sitting like this under the Parisian sky, for once Ladybug doesn’t feel the urge to pull away. “Here’s hoping we both figure it out.”

(Eventually, they do.)


	2. II. TIMERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TWO: Timers on your wrists count down until you meet your soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’d already written half of this before I saw the Origins episode, so I just moved stuff around (everything is mostly the same, except Adrien and Marinette meet each other first instead of Ladybug and Chat Noir.)

**TWO** : _Timers on your wrists count down until you meet your soulmate._

* * *

 

It feels like lying, not telling Adrien. But she was Ladybug before she met him (although by a short margin), found that part of her before she met him, and it’s so _large_ and _looming_ that although she _knows_ he would love her despite it (soulmate or not, he _has_ to, he’s so kind and caring) it’s just – _what if he doesn’t_?

She’s heard about it, soulmates who don’t get their happily-ever-afters. She doesn’t want to be the one to screw it up for them.

But it’s _hard_ , when she sees his bare wrists, the row of dark zeroes that match her own, and his wide, open, smile, and she thinks that even if he resented her for keeping it a secret from him, _he loves me, he loves me, he does –_

And he _does_. Adrien’s eyes are soft when he looks at her, his touch gentle, but –

Chat Noir is easy to fall in step with. He’s whip-smart, has a smile a mile wide, and is so in sync with her and attuned to her that sometimes she feels like they’re extensions of each other.

Marinette _adores_ him, and she makes sure he knows it, even if she doesn’t tell him as much.

She doesn’t think she’s imagining the heat in his eyes when he looks at her, either.

But – _Adrien_. Adrien, who teaches her Chinese, whom she brings pastries for when he has fencing practice, who talks about fashion and design with her, who lets her sleep on his shoulder during lunch. She loves him. And she knows Chat has met his soulmate, he’s mentioned her on the few quiet nights where they’re free to perch on rooftops and watch the bustle of Paris below, despite her insistence that they keep their personal lives private. He tells her that his soulmate is a kind girl with incredible talent, and he’s so _proud_ of her.

He knows she’s met hers, too. She doesn’t tell him about Adrien, not really. (But she loves him, she does.)

“What was it like for you?” she asks, on one soft night.

Chat grins, almost unbidden, like the very memory of meeting his soulmate brings him happiness, and – how can she let him screw that up?

“Like I was struck by lightning,” he says, the sides of his mouth twitching up as she says it. “And you?”

“I think,” Marinette says, clasping her hands together, “Our first meeting did not go so well.” She sighs, and it’s happy. “But later, I know that even if we didn’t have the timers, I would have looked at it him and says, _this is him_.”

* * *

 

 _Coup de foudre_ , Adrien thinks fondly the next day. _Struck by lightning_. And it’s true – he’d run to school flushed and terrified, his first real day of school and his timer has only _an hour left_ , he couldn’t have spent the day locked in his father’s house, this person _deserved to meet him_.

And for all his excitement, he’d gotten so _angry_ at Chloe about the gum that he’d completely forgotten about the _timer_. Then –

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

A voice, high and sweet, _yelling at him_ , and she’d reamed him for the gum on her seat for all of twelve seconds and he’d stood there, hapless – until they both realized the beeping going on in the empty air.

A hush had descended on the classroom, and suddenly their classmates were crowded around them, some pushing him and the girl together, others pulling them away to see their wrists, and he barely had time to process her face – soft, pretty, wide blue eyes, and a stunned expression that matched his – before Miss Bustier walked into the classroom and quieted them all.

He’d sneaked glances at her the whole day, though, and sometimes he couldn’t help but feel her eyes on him, too. During lunch she’d all but flown out of the classroom before he could turn to talk to her, her friend hot on her heels. Helpless, he’d turned to Nino, who’d only shrugged.

“Her name’s Marinette,” Nino had said, going on to explain that he’d known her for years and years but they were never friends, not really. Chloe had been eating at her for years, he’d added, and Adrien had felt yet another flash of guilt and anger – at Chloe, for being terrible, at Nino, for not doing anything, and himself, for not knowing this had happened and yet somehow ending up part of it.

“She probably hates me now,” he’d said, softly, looking down at his hands. _Marinette_ , strong-willed, defensive, beautiful. His _soulmate_ , and he’d already screwed it up. Could _nothing_ go right for him?

Nino had only looked contemplative. “You should just tell her the truth,” he’d replied simply.

He meets Ladybug later that day, too. His fellow superhero, his _partner_ , who has a smile that reflects the sun. She’s strong, and brave, and so confident, and Adrien traitorously lets himself think – _if only it went off for you_.

* * *

 

The rain had been bad, later that day. Marinette had thought Paris may be weeping for the villain that had just revealed itself, but Tikki had said she was being dramatic. Alya had long since run to the bus stop and the rain was getting so bad and she didn’t have an umbrella, but she couldn’t go home yet. Not when she let things between him and her _soulmate_ get so bad. Not when she knew he was still in the building, her senses hyperattuned to his presence.

_“Word is going to spread, my parents will know, my parents will hear–”_

_“You just have to hear his side of the story, Marinette!” Alya had said. “Things will work out. You two are soulmates.”_

_“What if he takes it against me? What if he’ll start resenting, and Chloe will never let me hear the end of it, having my soulmate be her precious Adrien and I screwed it up– Alya, what if he’s just like Chloe?”_

_“If he’s just like Chloe then I’ll eat my glasses. That boy kept looking at you all day, Marinette. He’ll at least listen.”_

Adrien’s footsteps had come up behind her, and his shock of golden hair had appeared in her peripheral vision. She’d turned away from him on instinct, and she saw him tense, and thought, _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I –_

He had beat her to the punch. “Hello,” he’d said, the timber of his voice warm and welcoming, his smile unwavering. When she hadn’t responded, he’d pressed on. “I wanted you to know that earlier today, I was trying to get the gum off your chair, and that – it’s true, what they said…I’d never gone to school before today, and I never had any friends–”

She’d stared at him, her heartbeat beating an ugly _thu-thump_ , beating herself up – _what a welcome she’d given her own soulmate_ , this brave, lonely boy – but he keeps talking.

“All of this is a bit new,” he’d confessed, almost shyly, handing her the umbrella. From that angle, the row of perfect zeros on his slim wrist had been so visible, and her heart had warmed. “So, I’m sorry. If you would be willing to start over, I–”

“Yes,” she’d blurted out. “Yes, of course. I’ll take it, the umbrella, a million starting-overs, I’d…” She’d trailed off, her fingers tentatively reaching out towards his outstretched hand, feeling that electric _jolt_ when their fingers momentarily touched, and he’d _smiled_ , and it was gorgeous and beautiful and thunder had clapped overhead, mirroring her heart clenching and, _oh, dieu_ –

_Coup de foudre._

“Then I think we should reintroduce ourselves,” Adrien had said, keeping his arm outstretched. “My name is Adrien Agreste. I’m fifteen and my father’s a designer. I’ve never been to school before today, so I hope you won’t mind my mistakes.”

The smile had come to her lips unbidden. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she had said. “Also fifteen, and I want to be a designer like your dad. And gladly, a-although I might not be the best person to ask for that, because I’m awkward, but…”

He’d laughed, open and honest, and Marinette had ducked her head so he wouldn’t see the pinking of her cheeks. “Then we’ll get through it together,” he’d said, grasping her hand in his. His hand was so _warm_. “Till tomorrow, Marinette,” he’d called over his shoulder, before he’d jogged through the rain into the waiting car.

“Till tomorrow,” she’d said faintly, her heart giddy.

“He’s a kind boy,” Tikki had said, perching on her shoulder. “But will you tell him?”

* * *

 

“Will you tell your girlfriend, though?” Plagg had asked, once they were alone in his room.

“ _Not_ my girlfriend,” Adrien had said, but heat had risen to his cheeks. Plagg had cackled. “Maybe someday,” he’d added. “But we’re still starting out, taking it slow. It’s still new, I want to be her friend first.”

“Sure,” Plagg had said. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

And he still hasn’t, to this day. Although some part of him knows that Marinette would accept him, it just feels like – something to keep to himself. He’d been in the public eye since he’d started modeling, and he was supposed to share everything with Marinette –

 _God_ , _Marinette_. How would she take him lying to her? She’d think him manipulative, _like Chloe_ , his heartbeat reminds him, she might never want anything to do with him again.

And Adrien can’t lose her. Not when she texts him silly things when he’s having a bad day or makes him tea and brings him knitwear when the weather is bad. She’s too good, too precious, fills a spot in his heart none of his few friends can. He can’t risk endangering her.

His _soulmate_.

Sometimes he still can’t believe it, that he gets someone like her, someone so brave and determined. Their classmates don’t ooh and aww at their matching marks anymore, letting them take it slow, and so Adrien is free to hold her hand at lunch and help her with Physics after class.

Ladybug seems to notice, when he arrives late _again_ to one of their patrols. “Extracurricular keeping you up, cat?” she teases.

Adrien frowns. “You could say that.”

There’s Ladybug, too.

He doesn’t know what _draws_ him to her. She’s powerful and mysterious, an enigma, a goddess in the night sky. He knows they both have soulmates in their civilian lives; he tells her little things about Marinette sometimes, although she doesn’t tell him much about hers, and he thinks – what they have is good. Even if she’s strong and utterly unlike any girl he’s ever met before, and although they’re so attuned to each other, although he’d once foolishly wished she’d be his soulmate instead – she’s not Marinette.

Adrien still trusts her with his life.

“ _Paw_ -ny for your thoughts, _chaton_?” Ladybug snaps him out of it, her smirk widening at his stunned expression.

Despite himself, he laughs. “You didn’t–did you just–”

She winks at him. “I did.” And then she’s leaping across over to the next building. “Better catch up!” she calls behind her. “I still have physics homework!”

* * *

 

It ends, as it must, with Gabriel Agreste dangling from the top of the Eiffel Tower, and Adrien’s pained expression as he stands over him. “It’s over, Father,” he says, cold, and Hawkmoth’s eyes widen, his grip goes slack, and then –

“ _Adrien_.”

He falls.

Adrien screams something primal, and before he knows it he’s leaping off the Eiffel Tower, body streamlined to fall faster, grab his father faster, Ladybug shrieking behind him. For a few blissful moments there’s nothing but the wind in his hair and a strange calm in his mind, _Marinette_ , he thinks, as he grabs hold of his father’s supine form and swings out his staff, knowing that it will break at their momentum, how the moonlight glinted off her hair and how she sounded when she smiled, _I never got to tell her_ – and the ground is _so_ near –

Suddenly, there’s a strong hand yanking him and his father up and he feels himself swing sideways before dropping Gabriel the last few feet from the ground, and Ladybug unceremoniously sets him down a few feet away, dropping gracefully onto the ground after him.

He turns to her, relief flooding him, and opens his mouth, before –

“You _idiot_!” she shrieks, punching him in the arm, and he recoils, grasping the spot where her knuckles had hit him.

“Ladybug,” he says, his heart in his throat.

“How could you do that to me?” And _shit_ , she’s actually crying, tears spilling out of her eyes and sticking to her mask when she tries to wipe them away.

“Ladybug,” he says again, steps closer, puts his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve done far worse. I knew you would be there.”

And suddenly her hands come around his body and clasp together behind his shoulder blades, crushing her body to his. His heart jumps at the contact, she’s never been one to initiate hugs, and _shit_ , she’s still crying, adorable sniffles that leave her gasping, and –

“Of course you would do that,” she says in between hiccups, her face still buried in his chest. “Reveal something, and then just do something stupid reckless, and leave _me_ to–”

As if on instinct, his hand comes up to thread through her hair. “Ladybug,” he murmurs against the top of her head, tears springing to his eyes as well, “Will you please tell me what I did wrong?”

She stiffens. He feels the moment stretch.

And then –

“Tikki,” she says quietly, “Spots off.”

* * *

 

This is what happens after: Gabriel takes an extended leave of absence. Adrien and Gabriel have always worked best with some distance, and Gabriel needs the time. His last email was from Istanbul, having bought a ceramic that had _reminded him of Angelique’s eyes_ , and when Adrien had read it, he’d turned off the computer and sat down on the lounge, thinking.

This is what happens after: Marinette finds him on the couch, her fingers kneading into the knots at his neck, her voice whispering affectionate _chaton_ s and _minou_ s in his ear until he’s relaxed from her ministrations. She clambers onto the couch onto him, places her legs over his lap, and presses her body to his, and his arm comes up around hers naturally.

“Another email?” she says softly.

Adrien’s fingers play with the soft hairs at the nape of her neck. She wears her hair down now, so the red crystal earrings they had picked out together after everything had ended shines dark from her raven locks. “Istanbul,” he sighs.

She lays her head against his shoulder, listens to the steady rise and fall of his chest. Her _soulmate,_ finally, all of him and all of her, with no secrets in between. She's so happy she could cry. “A lovely city,” she says. “We can go visit someday, if you like.”

“Someday,” Adrien agrees quietly, yawning and moving to press a kiss to the top of her head. In two weeks they will have exams, and Marinette’s parents will need her to help out with peak season deliveries. “But let’s stay home for now.”

“Yeah, home,” she whispers, twining her small fingers into his larger ones, runs her thumb along the black ring he’s now wearing. The matching zeroes stare up at her, and she hums, feels a thrill run from her heart all the way down to her toes, feels utterly and irrevocably _complete_. _He loves her, and she loves him_. “That sounds nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, so the Origins episodes killed me and brought me back to life so I could write this!!!! I actually had half of this already written out by the time it came out but the rain scene was ABSOLUTE PERFECTION and better than anything I’d previously written so I rewrote it to include that! And there were a zillion wonderful moments but one of the most underrated ones is the one where Nino tells Adrien to just tell Marinette the truth about the gum. He doesn’t go, “Marinette will forgive you” or “Marinette will understand,” he just tells him to go for it and trust that Marinette will forgive him by herself, and wow I just need more of Nino and Marinette being buddies (especially that my Alyanette childhood friends HC has just been cannonballed!! AT LEAST GIVE ME THIS, HAWKDADDY)
> 
> Also, you may notice that I’ve an extra chapter planned, I found a soulmate AU post on tumblr that I think would be PERFECT for Marichat, so keep an eye out for that.


	3. III: YOUR WRITING SHOWS UP ON THEIR BODY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s nice of you to check in on them,” Chat says, his voice strange. 
> 
> “I don’t know who they are,” Marinette admits, looking away. “They don’t know who I am. I guess I – this way, I get to fall in love with them without knowing who they are, if I ever do. It feels like cheating, to fall in love just because your doodles show up on their body.” She’s full-on blushing now. “But like I said, this is a thing we do. I guess I want my soulmate to know that I’m on their side, even if I don’t know who they are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i suck @ updating sry

Adrien is fortunate to learn about soulmates of this from his parents. When all three of them are together they use it all the time, his mother painting galaxies on the back of her hands and kissing them when they appear on his father’s; his father occasionally doodling designs down his arms and his mother commenting on them from across the room. It makes his parents smile, fills the room with a certain kind of warmth, and it makes him happy, too.

_“What if I don’t get one?”_ he’d asked one day.

His mother, a silly smiley-face doodle on her palm from his father, had cradled his cheek.

“ _Oh, sweetheart_ ,” she had said, “ _Soulmates are wonderful. Your father and I know that. But we’re lucky. A lot of people don’t have a soulmate, and they still end up happy. And then some people do, but sometimes happily-ever-after isn’t in the cards. You shouldn’t let it dictate your life too much, my dear son.”_

That should have been the first clue.

His mother disappears shortly after that. The galaxies down his father’s arms disappear. Gabriel starts wearing suit jackets and pants so Adrien never sees his bare skin. Slowly, his house begins to feel like less of a home.

* * *

 

It starts when he’s fourteen. His soulmate has drawn flowers on their forearm, petals and vines cascading down his skin in dark ink.

Adrien’s heart leaps in his throat. He rubs at the mark, puts it under water, tries to scrub it off, but it just _won’t_ , and his mother has been gone for _four years_ –

His _mother_ , who would have hugged him with happiness if she’d seen this. Adrien feels tears prickle at his eyes. He takes a deep breath and takes out a pen.

_They’re beautiful_ , he writes.  

They don’t write back. The flowers disappear.

He tries again the next day – a small _How are you doing_? on his wrist. It takes hours, sometimes he thinks that their connection might be _broken_ or that he might not be this artist’s soulmate after all, but –

_i'm fine, thanks for asking!_ _J_

They’ve drawn a small flower next to their words. Adrien’s heart warms.

It starts in this way – one of them always checking in on the other, a tiny _how was your day_? or _did you do your homework_? at the end of the night. His soulmate never shares much with him in their words, and so he doesn’t know anything about them, not really – but he’s sure that they must be kind, and gracious, and so, so talented. He knows that they’re fluent in French and thinks they’re around his age, but going to school like he is, because they never write during the hours the _college_ near his house has class in session. He’s not sure. They never ask for details and he never presses. It’s just nice, knowing that somewhere, someone has his back.

They’re an artist, drawing, always drawing. _I like the drawings_ , he’d written once, _they’re calming_ , and his soulmate has never disappointed; there are frequently plants or oceans or constellations down his forearms on any given night, and he thinks he imagines his soulmate’s warm reassurance somewhere out there.

He starts going to school the year he turns fifteen, and it’s hustle-bustle. New faces, new people who’ve otherwise known each other for years.

It goes badly.

_How was the first day_? his soulmate asks when he gets home, their neat handwriting appearing on his forearm letter by letter. He stares at it, unblinking. _You okay_? they add dutifully.

Adrien picks up a pen. _You ever feel like you’re not enough?_

_…What brought this on? Did it not go well?_

_I dunno. I feel like I’m not enough for my dad, or my supposed best friend, or even the girl who sits behind me in class, no matter how hard I try_. It’s the most he’s ever told his soulmate, and he waits with bated breath for their reply. 

_You don’t have to be enough for them_ , his soulmate says, each letter appearing slowly like they’re weighing their words. _You just have to be enough for you_. A pause. _And for what it’s worth, you’ve always been enough for me._

* * *

 

Adrien makes friends easily – enthusiastic Nino, cocky Kim, intelligent Max, but it always feels like he’s missing out on the easy camaraderie built by years of friendship. It’s like his mom laughing at his father’s squiggles on the back of her hand and showing it to him – like they’re kind enough to let him partake in the feeling, but he’s not _part_ of it, not really.

Alya is kind enough to him; they’re friendly primarily because they’re both new, but she and Marinette get on like a house on fire. It’s the reason he’s not as close to Alya as he’d like, because while Marinette isn’t snarling at him anymore, she’s backtracked and is completely skittish around him, and he has no idea what he’s done wrong.

He wonders if she has a soulmate, someone like his own who sends her calming messages at night. For her sake, he hopes so.

* * *

 

How do you tell your soulmate that you think you might love someone else?

Because Ladybug is something else – someone strong, and brave, and heroic. Not that he doesn’t think his soulmate is any of those things, but it’s _different_ , having that in front of you. Adrien barely had time to blink before he was _gone_ , hook, line and sinker.

_What kind of soulmate does that make me?_ he asks himself miserably, lying in bed one night, staring at the _Hey, how are you doing_? written in loopy script on his arm – _if I can’t love you, and just you, like you deserve_?

_People can love someone who aren’t their soulmates_ , Chloe would say – she’d been saying this for years, ever since she figured out that whatever she was scrawling on her arm wasn’t showing up on Adrien’s, and if there was someone out there for her they weren’t replying.

_You shouldn’t let it dictate your life so much_ , his mother had said, all those years ago.

But Chloe is lost to him and his father won’t talk to him, so Adrien stares at the moon through his bedroom window and watches destiny draw clouds down his forearms until sleep takes him.

* * *

 

In a week, his mother will have been gone five years, and his father seems unaware of the fact. He wants to tell someone, Nino, Chloe, anyone, about this indescribable feeling of loss and fear, but his name follows him everywhere and so after he bids Ladybug good night he finds himself leaping atop the Parisian rooftops, his blood thrumming and his fingers restless. He spies Marinette’s balcony, bright and warm, from three blocks away, and – he’s just checking up on her, anything can happen on a night like this, and it’s _quite_ cold –

“I know you’re there, Chat Noir,” Marinette says, not unkindly, after he’s skulked around the rooftops surrounding the café for a solid two minutes. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a cat spend some time on a stranger’s doorstep before journeying home?” Adrien says, dropping down onto the floor. He can hear strains of her parents’ laughter from downstairs, and it makes his heart ache.

“We aren’t strangers,” Marinette says without looking up from her book, her voice strange. But she’s smiling, and Adrien takes that as a good sign.

“Ah, but those incidents on the heat of battle were hardly enough to get to know you,” he presses, approaching her. “But I know you like pink, and baking, and design, that you’re quick on your feet and that you don’t stand for injustice.” He holds her gaze. “But what does the princess know about me?”

This startles a laugh out of her. “Silly cat,” she says, using her hand to cover her giggles. “I know more than you know,” she continues, swatting his arm once her laughter subsides. “But all right, you can stay for a while.” He lounges around on her balcony, talking about the flowers she grows and telling her crimefighting stories she laughs at, and it’s _nice –_ he’s never been sure how to act around her, but with his mask on he can feel her genuine warmth and caring, and he’s a little taken aback.

When she puts down her book and picks up a pen, his eyes slide towards her. She nibbles on the tip of her pen out of reflex and stares at him out of the corner of her eye, but otherwise she starts as she always does, lines and crosshatches that bloom into botanical illustrations.

“You like to doodle on your arms, princess?”

Marinette’s head snaps up. Chat’s looking at her, eyes glinting with curiosity.

“Yeah,” she admits, her cheeks pinking. “It’s a thing my soulmate and I do, at the end of every day.”

“It’s nice of you to check in on them,” Chat says, his voice strange.

“I don’t know who they are,” Marinette admits, looking away. “They don’t know who I am. I guess I – this way, I get to fall in love with them without knowing who they are, if I ever do. It feels like cheating, to fall in love just because your doodles show up on their body.” She’s full-on blushing now. “But like I said, this is a thing we do. I guess I want my soulmate to know that I’m on their side, even if I don’t know who they are.”

* * *

 

When Adrien gets home and releases the transformation, the sight hits him like a freight train to the chest – Marinette’s lilies, curling down his arms, and suddenly, he can’t get the image of her curled up in her bed out of his mind.

_Marinette is my soulmate._

_Marinette is my soulmate._

_Marinette is my soulmate._

Suddenly, the last four years shift, and Adrien’s head is spinning. Every _how are you_ or _are you okay_ , every doodled smiley, had been written by Marinette’s own gentle hand. His soulmate’s concern, happiness, sadness, excitement – that had all been her, her tripping over her own feet, her quiet giggles in class, her crafting a hat that had impressed even his father.

_Marinette is my soulmate_.

He remembers his mother's voice, her kind smile, the light in her eyes when she'd glance at his father, and suddenly, something warm unfurls in his chest, like Marinette’s lilies sprouting around his heart. The world stops spinning, his feet taking root on the ground below him.

_Marinette is my soulmate._

* * *

 

It takes him around two weeks to work up the courage, and he spends them sneaking glances at the bob of Marinette’s head, the rhythm her foot taps against the floor, the slender flicks of her wrist, the smattering of freckles that dot her cheeks, the curve of her lips, the –

_You just have to be good enough for you_ , she’d written on her arm with her signature gentleness, just so she could make him feel better.

_Have you ever thought of meeting?_ he scrawls before he can think twice about it, and looks away before she snaps her head up.

* * *

 

Marinette doesn’t know if Adrien has a soulmate. Unlike Ivan and Mylene, who found out that fate was on their side on the second day of the school year and unconsciously never let anyone forget it, everyone else is pretty quiet about the state of their soulmates – if they have one at all. She knows Alya’s wants to be a writer, but is a few years older than them. Nathaniel’s soulmate plays the piano and Rose’s wants to be a social worker. For the most part, these tiny tidbits are all she gets; it’s a sensitive topic for some people – it doesn’t work out for everyone; some love others they’re not destined for; others’ don’t write back; still others have soulmates who are callous, insensitive, or straight-up bad people, and Marinette is lucky that the flowers her mom draws on her skin show up on her dad’s, and that he loves them so much he kisses her whenever she makes breakfast.

But Adrien’s so – he’s so _kind_ , and _good_ , he must have one.

She doesn’t tell her soulmate about him, because she doesn’t want to make them feel bad – her soulmate makes her feel like a glass of warm milk before bedtime, fuzzy in her stomach and warm in her blood, but Adrien is a cup of coffee in the morning – comforting, energizing, and sunny. She figures she’ll love him now and love her soulmate when the time comes.

But – it’s sad. She’s heard stories of other people who love people who aren’t their soulmates, and it rarely ends well – the actual soulmate turns up, or they can’t make it work. Maybe she’s naïve, but she _wants_ the whole happy-ending-with-her-soulmate thing. Even if her soulmate’s not Adrien.

_Then_ they send her a message, asking if she’s ever thought of meeting.

And – _god,_ yes she has, of _course_ she has. But she’s always been weird about asking – she’s not sure if she wants to know who they are, if they live in Paris, if they’re even on the same continent. She’s never pressed for details and they’ve never asked, and she’s always felt comfortable with what they have now.

_Yeah, of course,_ she scrawls before she can think better of it. _Do you live in France?_

There’s a pause. Marinette feels the seconds crawl by before he answers. _Yes, I live in Paris, actually._

This surprises her, no matter how badly she’d hoped it to be true – her soulmate is somewhere in the city. She might have passed them on the street, or sold them an éclair after school, or sat next to them on the train. She might _know_ them.

_Me too!_ she replies. Then out of morbid curiosity, _you really want to meet in person?_

* * *

 

They set a date, a time, and a place – two Thursdays from now, 9:30 in the evening (because apparently her soulmate has extracurricular activities that force him to stay late, which she can relate to, and she can only hope he thinks nothing of the ease at which she acquiesces) at Alya’s favorite café in the 10th arrondissement.

So of _course_ at 9:05 she finds herself rushing towards her house after a mission gone awry, thinking _shit shit shit I’m going to be late, or I’ll get there on time but I won’t look nice, or -_  

She arrives at home and yells a hasty good evening to her parents before bolting up the stairs and into the shower, scrubbing down as quickly as she can and running outside just as fast. She puts on a pale pink dress she almost never wears and her trusty white kitten heels, swabs powder on her face and wills herself to look presentable.  

It’s 9:25 when Marinette drops her transformation two blocks away from the café. She’s seriously considering sprinting the rest of the way when a hand at her shoulder makes her turn around and shriek, only to sigh in relief when she sees Chat Noir’s face, his lips splitting into a grin at the sight of her.

“What are you _doing_?” she cries, before taking a deep breath. “You scared me.”

“Apologies, princess,” he greets, sounding genuinely remorseful. “I wasn’t sure what would have been worse, that or just dropping down in front of you.”

She lets out a laugh at that. “Now that you say it, I’m not actually sure,” she admits.  “Why are you out so late, anyway?” she asks, mostly for the sake of conversation. She knows _exactly_ why he’s out so late.

“You know me, justice never sleeps,” he says, winking at her and frowning at her exaggerated eyeroll. “You look nice tonight. Do you have somewhere to be?”

She smiles nervously up at him. “Yes! I’m actually running quite late, I hope they won’t mind,” she blurts out. “I’m not really a punctual person, and – it’s the first time I’m meeting someone important, I’d hate to make a bad first impression.”

Chat Noir’s gaze warms. “I’m sure you’ll have no problem at all charming the metaphorical pants off of them,” he says. “They are lucky to meet you.”

Her heart leaps in her throat. “T-thanks.”

“Actually, I have somewhere to be, too,” Chat Noir says flippantly. “Go on, I’d hate to keep you. Take care, Marinette.”

“You too,” Marinette says faintly, her heart leaping in her throat. “See you around,” she calls, as he melts into the shadows with his signature bow.

_Strange_ , she thinks to herself, but thinks nothing of it. Surely weirder things have happened – like the fact that she’s about to face her _soulmate_.

_Not face_ , she chides herself a second later. _Meet. My soulmate is a good person, I’ve never been surer of anything. I’ve faced so many monsters. I can do this._

But nothing really prepares her for the sight of Adrien Agreste on the cobblestone sidewalk outside the café, handsome and put-together, and for all the world looking like he’s been waiting for her his whole life.


End file.
